


Per Stirpies

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [519]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: ak47stylegirl askedScott finds a letter from his dad (thunderbirds)





	Per Stirpies

Scott hated being in a suit.  Jackets and ties felt too loose and yet too constraining after weeks on end in his flightsuit.

His business suits were too dark a blue, too somber and serious. Sat at the head of the table, Scott looked down at the two rows, one to either side, of similarly dark-suited figures and tried to feel even remotely in control.

“Sir, as you know, there are certain procedures….” the spiel at least held no new information, no surprises.  There dad had been officially gone a full year, unofficially longer.  There were rules and protocols, laws governing which documents could be destroyed, which had to be archived or released.

Scott was there to nod and initial.  At least the somber mood meant he didn’t have to fake a smile.

The sun tracked through the darkened glass behind him, changing the shadows as everything else repeated in pattern until finally there was only a single, slim file left.  Scott blinked as the rest of the suits were dismissed on a signal he didn’t catch.  “Terry?” he asked, the first words he’d said since he had taken his seat at the head of this table.

“The auditors found a few…personal files.”  Terry tapped the file once.  “Addressed to you, sir.” He rose, tucking his stylus into his breast pocket.  “You won’t be disturbed in here, sir.  Take all the time you need.”

“What’s in them?”

Terry paused at the door.  “I haven’t read them, sir.  They weren’t addressed to me.”

The sound of the door clicking shut was loud in the executive hush.  Scott’s hand was shaking as he flipped open the file.

The letter was undated, his father’s simple scrawling hand filling the page from margin to margin.  “Dear Scott,” it began.  “I hope you never have to read this….”

Scott let the file drop, tilting back in the chair until the fulcrum of the swivel swung him slowly to face the sunset.

He wasn’t sure he could ever read a letter that his father didn’t want to have to write.  He could see the old man now, pausing and thinking before writing some more, head tilted as he did whenever he wrote long hand.

His father never wanted to write that letter, but he did.  Scott didn’t want to read it, but he’d done a lot of things he didn’t want to lately.  Picking up the letter again, Scott stepped close to the dying light through the window and forced himself to read.


End file.
